


Off the Record

by SilverKnightKaden



Series: Magnus Fics [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, POV Female Character, Paranormal, Pining, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Suicide, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverKnightKaden/pseuds/SilverKnightKaden
Summary: After recieving a very generous offer to study in London and work at the Magnus Institute, your life may change forever. There are friendships forming and disasters striking at every turn. Can you save the people you care about?---Temporarily on hold! No updates for a while
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Reader, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)/Reader
Series: Magnus Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023441
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. Bird's Lament - Moondog

**Author's Note:**

> Remake of the last magnus story i had (off the tapes). I was toying with the idea in my mind and the part of that story that was up didnt really fit the narrative i designed. This will be the story as i intented it, and it will still have the songs as chapter titles. Once i can get the playlist set up to where the chapter titles are in order, ill add a link somewhere in the story so you can experiemce this story as intented! You can listen to the music thru whatever means you have, but i do plan to get the playlist working eventually. Until i get that figured out, please enjoy this story! Thank you so much for coming
> 
> Warnings:  
> THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF DEATH, VIOLENCE, GORE, AND OTHER POSSIBLY TRIGGERING SUBJECTS SUCH AS SUICIDE, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
> 
> Sub-notes:  
> The reader, as will be explained in the story, is female and american. I tried to keep specific details (hair color, skin color, eye color, etc) out, but the one thing i will say is that our reader is fairly short, around 5'2. Originally, i had intended on staying as gender neutral as possible, but i couldnt find a way to comfortably fit that into this narrative. I couldn't find any tags for it, but the reader is also pansexual!  
> As i said, the title of each chapter is a song and the singer/cover artist (yes, some are covers, pls dont @ me). The song may not have anything to do witht he chapter at all, its simply the song i listened to or compared the chapter to when writing. Ideally, i would like for readers to listen to the music as they read, but it is entirely your own choice! Either way, i will try to make this story as enjoyable and loveable as possible

There was something almost freeing about leaving my home behind. Everything was behind me and I was looking ahead, to my future. I had been given an amazing opportunity to learn and grow, to experience the world by myself, and I'd be damned if I gave up a chance like that. To study abroad and be automatically accepted to work at _the_ Magnus Institute was almost too good to be true!

My father and brother, obviously, detested the idea. While they were almost as excited as I was for the opportunity, they seemed to have it in their heads that I couldn't take care of myself if I lived in another country, so far away from their stifling protection. I argued back, saying that I'd lived the last five years in an apartment alone and managed just fine, and they reluctantly stopped their own arguments. Once they realized there was no changing my mind, they allowed themselves to stp worrying and start congratulating me and helping me prepare to leave.

Goldie and Alex were super excited for me, as were the rest of my friends from university. They told me that a position at the Magnus Institute would have been well enough alone, but getting to study at Herakles School of Fine Arts in London...well...let's just say that there _plenty_ of celebratory rounds that night.

Weeks later I was being waved off as I started toward the airport doors. I hadn't been on a plane since I was a child, and I couldn't remember most of that flight, so I was a little nervous. Still, it would take more than that to make me reconsider what might have been the greatest chance in my life and career as an artist. HSFA had seen many of my generation and the previous' greatest artists, and I would hopefully be counted amongst them one day.

Airport security was, as one could imagine, Hell on Earth. Beeping doorways, prodding guards, and people sifting through my bags. Noisy strangers, airplanes taking off, and cluttered rooms. It was all I could do to sit in one of the waiting areas with the small crate that my dog sat in, nervous, and put in some headphones. Once the music began, I allowed myself to tune out everything else and keep an eye on the time. If I missed my flight, I would likely not be able to get another one on time, as it seemed many other people were trying to get to London as well.

A little over an hour later, my flight was called. I put my phone in my pocket, grabbed the crate, and walked through one final gate to get to the plane. Other people walked around me and past me as I did so, some clearly more eager to get in than others. I was, thankfully, sat between two kind and quiet old ladies who cooed at my dog and spoke softly about why I was going to London. They awed and gasped at my art when I showed them, saying that if they had a ay of contacting me, they might buy or commission some. I offered them my phone number for just that, and they each gingerly took the small slips of paper I handed them with my name and mumber, thanking me before a lady came by to ask if we needed anything.

The flight took hours, and it was basically the middle of the night when I arrived in London. I had only managed about an hour of sleep during the flight, so I was feeling pretty bogged down and ready to sleep. I tiredly retrieved all my bags and was making my way toward the entrance when I saw a man approach me. He was quite handsome and a fair bit taller than myself, donned in a sweatshirt and slacks that looked like they cost more than my plane ticket. The dashing smile he gave me might have made me swoon had I not been on the brink of passing out.

He asked me for my name, which I gave, thinking he was another security guard or employee of some sort. Instead of asking about my bags or my dog, he nodded to himself and offered to take one of my bags. When my brows furrowed, he chuckled to himself.

"Of course, how could I forget," he said, his voice and accent as gorgeous as his face. "You and I have never met before, so you must not recognize me. I am Elias Bouchard, current head of the Magnus Institute in London." I balked at this and prepared to stammer out an apology, but he waved a hand at me and chuckled. "No, no need to apologize. It was my own fault for not introducing myself first. There is a taxi outside waiting to take you to your apartment."

"O-oh?" I asked stupidly. "Um, I don't actually have a place just yet. I was going to stay in a hotel until I can find a place."

The grin on his face was one of mild amusement, as if he knew something I didn't. "All Institute staff who don't have anywhere to stay are given an apartment near the building. The rent payments will come directly out of your paycheck, so there's no need to worry about that. Not to mention that the apartment building I chose for you is situated right between the Institute and Herakles School, so you're never to far from either of them."

I must've looked stupid, standing in the middle of an airport gaping at my new boss as my Scooby wriggled in his kennel. Elias picked up two of my bags and effortlessly lifted them up. "Shall we?" he asked politely, waiting for me to pick up the last bag and carry it to the taxi. I did so immediately, trying not to think about how fucking _awesome_ working at the Institute was going to be.

We loaded my bags into the trunk of the cab and I placed Scooby's kennel in the taxi backseat between Elias and myself. At fist, my stomach lurched when we began to drive on the opposite side of the road from what I was used to, but I had already made a big enough fool of myself in front of Elias. The icing on the cake would be if I freaked out about a car and startled the taxi driver, which I took every precaution not to do.

The apartment building was, by all means, nice. It didn't look glamorous or expensive, but it definitely looked out of my price range. "Will I really make enough to stay here?" I asked without realizing I said it aloud. Elias chuckled.

"It's not quite as expensive as it looks," he informed me, standing next to me with the two bags he had carried before. "Besides, I'm sure you already know this but the Institute pays researchers quite well."

He walked ahead of me, stepping into the building and leading me to an elevator at the back of the lobby. It was almost midnight, so there weren't many people around aside from staff members flipping through books or organizing shelves. We took the elevator to the third floor, and Elias brought me to a brown wooden door marked 305, which would be my apartment number. He set down one of my bags and retrieved a pair of keys from his pocket to open the door.

The apartment was bigger than I'd expected, but not outrageously huge. Still, my living room had a big windowed door that lead to a balcony and a medium kitchen area, so it was likely far pricier than my old apartment in America.

Once the entrance to the apartment had been shut, I set down Scooby's kennel and opened the little door. Almost immediately, he had shot out of it and began running around to sniff every corner of the new place. Elias set down my bags next to a nice looking sofa and handed me the pair of keys that had opened my apartment door, as well as a small business card-like peirce of paper.

"I wrote down my office's phone number, my working hours and your hours, as well as directions to the Institute and to your school. The bus stop outside this building offers routes about every hour and those routes pass by both buildings, so it would be best to leave for work an hour hefore you'd like to arrive." He began making his way to the door, slowly and still talking to me as he did so. "Take the rest of this week to adjust and come in an hour early Monday morning so you can get a quick tour of the building. Also, don't worry about food - the fridge and cabinets should have enough to last you and your pet until your first paycheck comes through." By now, he had opened the door and was stepping out, still turned toward me with that secretive kind of grin. "I'll see you Monday morning." The door closed.

Almost in a daze, I sat down on the couch, which was just as soft and comfortable as it looked. From another room, Scooby came padding down the hallway and toward me, nearly slipping on the hardwood floors. He whined at me, pawing at my leg and making a sad expression.

"What's wrong, baby?" I asked, scooping him into my arms and holding him to my chest. He whined and barked in my ear. "Ah, are you hungry? I bet you are - you're a growing baby boy." I held him with one arm as I used the other to dig through my bags. I removed two plastic bowls and one bag of dog food, which made Scoob wriggle in my grasp. I placed him on the floor and poured some food into his bowl, which he immediately dove for. I laughed a little, picking up his other bowl and taking it to the sink for water. Once it was placed down, he turned to it to go for a few licks of water, before burying his nose in the food again. Suddenly hit with another wave of that sleepiness with my body feeling heavier by the moment, I laid out on the couch and passed out almost immediately.


	2. The City As You Walk - Skyhill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...anyway skyhill was way before their time ✋😔 i love dan avidan with all my heart. I know this story aint about him, but dans voice is GOD TIER alright?!?!
> 
> I forgot to mention this!!! But i FREQUENTLY gather info from the fandom wiki (i do not have time to go listen to every single episode again just to find out what johns fave color is or smth) so if any info is wrong pls tell me...also this story begins in late summer of 2014, about a year (?) before the beginning of the magnus archives
> 
> Also im beggin yall.....please....anyone who lives in london or even just britain in general pls hmu in the comments and help me....im begging. Any type of help would be appreciated - slang, different accent 'dialects', locations, etc....im in dire need of assistance.

"So you're telling me your boss gave you a fancy, expensive apartment?" Alex asked in disbelief, voice somewhat crackled and different through the phone. I heard Goldie shuffling in the background, accompanied by the faintest sound of her speaking.

"Sounds kinda creepy," she muttered, and Alex hummed her agreement.

"Yeah, well it also sounds like I've got a well-paying job and I'm going to be studying at one the best art schools _in the fucking world_ ," I reminded them. "This is a really great chance for me to further my career as an artist and get some work done in an actual job at the same time. Besides, you should've seen my boss, he's really fucking hot."

"Is he?" Goldie asked, voice suddenly much louder and interested. She must have gotten closer when she heard me. "Don't be shy, send pics."

I scoffed at the idea. "Please, I am _not_ gonna risk getting fired just so I can send you a candid of my handsome boss. You'll just have to come meet him yourself."

"Okay, so tell me what part of London you're in and I'll get a plane ticket. Come on, don't do this to me."

"As much fun as this conversation is," Alex interrupted with false annoyance, "I think you have a date, Goldie. You know. With me. Your girlfriend."

"...I love you." Alex sighed.

"Yeah, I love you too."

"Aw, y'all are cute or whatever," I gushed, causing them to groan in response. "Alright, alright, go be gay and make out in a café or something, I have a date as well."

"With who, one of your video game characters?" Alex's teasing tone hit a weak spot. She was right on the money.

"I'll have you know that Fire Emblem is so much more than a video game," I huffed. "This game is _art_ and you will treat it with the respect it deserves!"

"Yeah, whatever, just tell your lobster boyfriend guy I said hi."

"...His name is Ryoma, I'll have you know. And he is a prince."

"Goodbye, loser."

"Goodbye, meanies."

Alex hung up and I placed my phone next to me on the couch. Scooby shifted on my other side, poking his wet nose against my free hand and whining. I reached over to scratch behind his ears, then began to pet him as he leaned closer to me. "I get the feeling I'm gonna miss hanging out with everyone," I told him. "I...I don't know anybody here. M-maybe this was a mistake, I..."

I shook my head, snapping mself out of those thoughts. "C'mon, you've been pent up in here for three days," I said to myself. "You just miss the human interaction. You should really go outside. And you should probably stop talking to yourself."

Scoob leapt to his feet when I stood, retrieving his leash from one of my bags, which I had yet to finish unpacking. After I hooked the leash to his collar, he began excitedly running in circles and tugging at the leash. Smiling, I lead him into the apartment complex hallway, making sure to lock the door behind us, and scooped him into my arms.

He wriggled in my grasp and whined softly. "It's fine," I said soothingly, stepping into the elevator. "It's only until we get outside."

A woman and a small boy, probably her son, stepped into the elevator behind me. "Going down?" she asked politely, and I nodded.

"To the lobby," I informed her, and she pressed the first floor button. It was then that I noticed the small boy's gaze was transfixed on me.

"Miss, can I pet your doggy?" he asked kindly, voice so small and cute and polite. His mother laughed and began to say he shouldn't bother other people, but I had already lowered myself so he could reach the puppy wrapped in my arms.

"His name is Scooby," I informed the child, who grinned and began lightly patting Scoob's head. "He's only a few months old, so he's still pretty playful. He might nibble at your fingers a little, but it doesn't hurt."

Scooby didn't, though. The whole elevator ride, he basked in the attention of the small child. At some point, even his mother had reached down to gently scratch Scoob's ears. When the elevator bell dinged, I straightened back up to my full height. "If you ever want to visit Scoob, or if you ever want me to babysit, I'm in apartment 305," I told them, hoping I didn't come across as strange or creepy. "I'm sure he'd love the company."

The woman smiled and seemed to write something down on her hand, before taking her son's hand gently in her own and beginning to lead him through the lobby. Scooby nuzzled further into my grasp, wet nose poking at my neck as he huffed out a contented sigh. "Alright, let's get moving."

Once we were outside and on the sidewalk, I placed Scooby on the ground and let him begin to trot along beside me. I made mental note of the street and landmarks of the building before leaving, then began to walk among the other people in the steets. Some passersby cooed at Scooby, grinning and complimenting me on my cute dog. I would smile and thank them, and the simple interaction made me feel that little bit better. I was right - I missed human interaction.

The buildings I passed ranged in architecture, size, and color, but the all seemed so much larger than life. They were beautiful, more so than the run-down, concrete warehouses and stores that littered my hometown. As much as I loved it there, I simply could not find any way to compare my old home to this beautiful city.

I came across a building that resembled a library and stopped in my tracks. That was it, the Magnus Institute. Above the grand front door was its insignia, accompanied by the motto. “Audio. Vigilo. Opperior."

The building itself wasn't very significant, just what appeared to be a large, well-funded library. Well, that's pretty much what it was, so I guessed that made sense. Higher windows suggested that the building had a second floor, possibly a third. I couldn't see inside through the windows, and I didn't want to take Scoob inside and risk him mistaking someone's tesk for a toilet, so I resigned to taking in the building from outside.

Even for such an old looking building, the foundation and architecture looked sturdy, as if it was entirely new. The simplistic arches across the front continued to draw my eyes to the insignia above the door. Some small part of me almost began to walk towards it, but I stopped myself before moving too close to the road and into oncoming traffic. I remained in my spot for a moment longer, then turned to continued my walk. If the Institute was here, then HSFA must have been in the opposite direction from my building.

The rest of my walk was uneventful. More people gushed at my dog, and I passed by a few amazing street performers. One of them had given a dazzling saxophone solo, and I reached for a bit of change from my pocket, suddenly very glad I'd exchanged some money beforehand.

As the day wore on, I became more aware of how hungry I was becoming. Scoob seemed to be feeling it, too - whenever we stopped walking, he would paw at my foot and give me those big, cute eyes of his. I glanced around the streets, hoping to find a dog-friendly restaurant or an outdoor café. Luckily, I managed to spot the latter. A little walk away was a small café with tables outside, and I saw someone who resembled a waiter speaking to one of the customers. I threaded my way through the people and toward one of the open tables, taking a seat in one of the cushioned iron chairs. Scoob hopped into my lap, and I allowed him to sit there as I began flipping through the menu.

A few minutes later, a waitress approached me with a soft smile. She looked like she was resisting the urge to scoop my dog into her arms as she asked me what I wanted to drink.

"I think...a medium caramel frappé, please," I told her. "And, uh...could I get a small bowl of water for my dog?"

She nodded at me, informing me that the drinks would be back to me in a few minutes, and I thanked her as she walked inside. I didn't have time to do much else, as a figure appeared where she had just stood.

"Is this seat taken?" The man, shockingly handsome, motioned to the chair across from me at the table.

"Well," I started, heart pounding for no reason, "I was goin to have my dog sit there, but I suppose you could take it." The man smiled and took his seat, beginning to look through the menu himself.

"My name is Timothy Stoker," he informed me, glancing at me from across the table, "but you can just call me Tim." I told him my name in return, and something like recognition came across his face. "You wouldn't happen to be the new girl at the Institute that Elias mentioned, would you?"

"Oh, do you work there as well?" He nodded.

"Yeah, I'm in the research department. Elias mentioned something about a new hire, and I'm sure he said your name."

"Well, yeah, that's me," I said, suddenly extremely shy for no reason at all. God, were all of my co-workers going to be absolute hotties?! This was insane and totally unfair! "I'm going to start on Monday, since I only arrived a few days ago."

"I thought your accent was weird," he mentioned, setting down his menu to look at me fully. "Didn't really sound like you're from here."

I shook my head. "No, I'm from America. I actually just transferred to Herakles to study art. I was just lucky enough that the Magnus Institute offered me a job and a scholarship at the same time." Tim's eyebrows raised.

"So, you're an artist?" he asked. "What kind? Painting? Scultping?"

I shrugged. "A litle bit of everything, I guess. I suppose I'm mainly focusing on painting and sketching." I got cut off as the waitress reappeared with my drink and the bowl, placing them in the table and ground respectively. I let Scooby onto the ground, and he padded over to the bowl to get himself a few sips. As I did so, Tim ordered himself some type of coffee and the waitress wrote it down before going back inside.

"Cute dog," Tim mentioned, and I smiled.

"His name is Scooby," I informed him, and he chuckled.

"No offense but he doesn't look anything-"

"Yeah, I know," I said, half cutting him off with a joking tone to my voice. "It was just the first name that came to mind."

Tim hummed in thought. "I think it suits him," he spoke, leaning his chin into the palm of his hand. "So you've only been here a few days?"

"Yeah, my flight got here Wednesday night. This is my first time leaving the apartment building, actually," I admitted, somewhat ashamed to have said that aloud. If Tim noticed, he didn't mention.

"You holed up for three days? All alone?" I shook my head.

"Not alone. I had Scoob." The puppy, who had yet to really learn his name, was lying on his stomach in front of the bowl, almost like he was willing it to turn into food. Luckily, the waitress was returning with Tim's drink and a little notepad to write our orders. I got myself a ham sandwhich and a cake pop, and Tim got a cheese croissant and a slice of cake.

"Uh, could I get some extra meat on the side or something...? For my dog, I mean."

The waitress giggled a little, but she nodded and scribbled something into her notepad. "I'll have those out soon!" She collected our menus and took our orders inside.

"A bit nervous?" Tim asked, offering a kind smile across the table and behind part of his hand.

"I'm still not used to living here just yet," I admitted. "It's a lot different from where I used to live. I mean, I lived in the same house until I was twenty, so moving countries all of a sudden is really scary." I didn't know why I was talking so much. Something about being around Tim made me feel like I could share anything, like he wouldn't judge me.

He gave a nod that almost seemed like an understanding. "It must be tough," he responded. "I've never moved countries before, but I imagine it would be difficult to manage."

"You have no idea," I sighed, letting myself laugh just a little. "Wow, did you put something in my drink? I'm mot usually this talkative with strangers."

"I promise I didn't put anything in your drink," he told me. "At least, nothing bad." He grinned at me and I laughed again.

We continued talking like it was nothing. Words practically flew from my mouth without even running through my brain first. At some point, Scoob had hopped into Tim's lap, and the handsome man had begun to almost absentmindedly pet him.

Not long later, the waitress returned with our food. The sandwhich looked good, and I wondered if they had baked the bread themselves or perhaps bought it from a nearby bakery, because it looked fresh and fluffy and was slightly warm to the touch. I was so hungry I totally missed Tim whisper something to the waitress about the check.

I picked up the small pile of sandwhich meat and Scooby leapt out of Tim's grasp. His little feet dashed back to my end of the table, where he stood against my leg and eyed the meat hungrily. His tail was wagging a mile a minute as I dropped a slice of ham into his mouth. He hounded it down in seconds, eyes returning to the small bundle of meat in my hand.

"Here," Tim said, offering me a plate. Whil I wasn't looking, he had moved his slice of cake onto the same place as his croissant and wiped away the cake remnants. I thanked him and placed the meat on the plate, gently setting it on the ground for Scoob. Before I could see him begin to devour it, I returned to my own plate and picked up my sandwhich.

Like before, conversation during our meal came freely. Tim was very funny and kind, not to mention extremely good looking. If I had met him before, I probably would have fallen for him in mere moments.

The meal was gone quicker than it had arrived, and, as much as I enjoyed Tim's company, it was getting a bit dark. The waitress, seeing we had finished eating, had returned with our bill. Faster than I could blink, Tim had pulled out his wallet and was grabbing a few bills. I tried to protest, but he just gave the waitress the money and smiled at me as she walked off.

"You didn't have to do that," I told him as he reached down to scratch Scoob's ears.

"You didn't have to let me sit with you," he rebuffed. "Think of it as my way of thanking you for the lovely company."

I bit the tip of my tongue in thought. "Tomorrow morning I have to leave early. Let me buy you coffee in the shop across from the Institute, seven in the morning." The idea of having to wake up at around six on a Monday was dreadful, but the way Tim smiled at my offer made my regret melt away immediately.

"Alright," he replied, "but only if you let me walk you home. It's dark and spooky, but I understand if that's overstepping boundaries."

"It's a deal." He seemed to hold back a laugh when I stuck my hand across the table, but he shook it nonetheless. When the waitress returned with his change, we thanked her for our meal and stood up to leave. I picked up the bowl and plate Scoon had used and placed them atop the table, then turned toward what I hoped was the direction of my building. Sure enough, I saw the Magnus Institute a little ways down the road, so I was sure it was that way.

"Shall we?" Tim asked, holding his arm out for me. I wondered if he had done it jokingly, but he made no comment when I looped my arm around his and we began to walk.

When we stopped outside my building, I reached down to scoop Scooby into my arms. "Thanks for the dinner, it was lovely."

"My pleasure," Tim replied. There was a split second of quiet, and I smiled.

"If you're hoping for a kiss, I think you're mistaken," I told him. "I never kiss on the first date."

He chuckled, a certain glint in his eyes that could've easily been the streetlamps or the barely twinkling stars, but I knew it wasn't. His eyes were so bright, they seemed so joyful. "Well, maybe I'll have better luck tomorrow morning," he said. I rolled my eyes but smiled that much wider as I entered the building's lobby.

That night, my dreams were of the stars and the galaxy. Of places far away that I'd only ever see in my mind, but that were so vividly familiar to me.


	3. ANIMAL CROSSING - Shawn Wasabi, Sophia Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This song is more for the kind of message it gives - crossing paths with someone for a moment, or what feels like a moment, but it still leaves that impact. I just felt like that should be explained a bit shcjsnxnsjxj its a little upbeat and this chapter is boring but whatever sjxbsxbsns

"So, correct me if I'm wrong," Tim began after setting down his drink, a macchiato or something to that effect, "but isn't that the same thing you drank yesterday?" The background noise of the café in the early morning and the ringing of the door's bell almost drowned out the somewhat soft question. My drink, an ice cold frappé, chilled my hand as the condensation got caught up by the coaster underneath it.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," I started as Tim tilted his head with an expectant smile, "but is that a hint of judgement in your voice?" The resulting laugh wasn't loud, but it made the tune of birds and the drum of passersby walking past vanish. There was a happy look on his face, an expression that looked like it was meant to be there. The lift in the corners of his mouth caused the corners of his eyes to wrinkle just a little bit, and he looked even more handsome when he grinned.

"No judgement here," he replied, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he had the day before, dark, unkempt hair (that looked messy and rugged, yet handsome all the same) falling to the sides of his face and bright eyes half lidded but focused solely on me. He must've been tired - we had met at seven in the morning, so he had to have gotten up really early to make it here on time. Even so, he was sitting at a booth before I had even arrived. He shook his head as I apologized for making him wait, saying it was no issue, but I'd seen him try to hide a few yawns behind his drink or his hand.

I took a sip from the straw in my drink. It had only been forty minutes, but we had finished our food and were nearly done with our drinks. When I heard the telltale slurp from my straw, I knew that my drink was gone without even looking. I slid the cup to the side to make room for my arms as I laid my head down in them.

"Am I boring enough for you to fall asleep on our second date?" Tim's remark made me smile and my face heated up a little bit. I was suddenly glad my head was turned away from him so he couldn't see.

"It's not your fault. Scoob kept me up all night barking at our new curtains." I lifted my head and straightened out my back as Tim chuckled. "I'm glad none of my neighbors made a fuss."

There were still around twenty minutes to spare, but as I made my way to stand up, Tim followed without a word. Still without speaking, we walked together out of the coffee shop, Tim holding the door open for me with a goofy smile on his face. After checking for oncoming traffic, we quickly made our way across the street and were soon stood outside of the Magnus Institute.

"I just realized it," I began, "but you must be here an hour or so early. I'm sorry, I should've waited until tomorrow."

Tim cut me off by patting my back and smiling. "Don't worry about it," he assure me. "Elias will probably be thrilled that I'm here on early rather than pushing getting here late." As he spoke, we had started walking into the building. Once more, he held the great wooden door open for me, allowing me to walk in ahead of him.

The Institute was shockingly like how I'd imagined it. There was a small desk near the entrance, behind which sat a kind looking girl flipping through a book. There was the quiet noise of people coming from other places beyond the marble-floored lobby area. The arches outside repeated themselves to form a doorway into the next room of the Institute. As we walked, Tim gently wrapped a hand around my arm, leading me up a flight of stairs in the second room, which looked like a library. Shelves covered the walls and littered the floor, with people quietly shuffling between them or sitting at desks. Some had laptops of their own, some were seated at computers provided by the Institute, and some just had a book or other papers laid out in front of them. Along with the expected quiet of a library, there was also the expected sound of keyboards tapping, pages turning, and footsteps falling between shelves.

The second floor must have been staff only, and Tim turned down a short hall and opened another brown-stained wooden door, this time entering ahead of me. When I rounded the corner into the room, I saw Elias was there, waiting for me. If I hadn't been hyper aware of how much time was spent at the coffee shop, I might've feared I'd been late. Instead, I took two steps in and stopped in front of Elias.

"I see you've already met one of your colleagues," he said to me, clearly speaking about Tim. "That makes this a little easier, since your desks are next to each other." There was a wave of relief in my mind, and I could've sworn I saw Tim smile a little wider from the corner of my eye. "The desk to the right of Tim's will be yours." He turned to Tim, now, speaking in the same tone with that ever-present knowing expression on his face. "You wouldn't mind showing her the ropes, would you?"

"You can count on me, boss," Tim responded in a half joking tone, and Elias nodded.

"Very well. Perhaps during your break or after your shift, you wouldn't mind giving her a little tour of the Institute as well? It would be best for her to learn where things are sooner rather than later, as we seem to be getting an influx of statements as of late."

"Sure thing." Apparently satisfied with this, Elias turned to leave, patting my shoulder once as he passed me and letting the door softly close behind him. Tim took my arm again and lead me to to an empty desk. "This'll be your workplace."

It was a brown-red wooden desk, like all the others, with a rather comfy looking office chair that was...yeah, sitting in it felt like sitting on a cloud. There was a computer on the desk, like the others in the room but perhaps slightly more expensive than the public ones in the library. Tim reached over me to begin turning on the computer. He used a password that I couldn't see, then pulled up a program that I'd never seen before.

"This is where some of your research will go down," he told me, picking up a sticky note from the desk left of mine, which Elias had mentioned was Tim's. He scribbled something down before placing the written-on note on the bottom part of my screen. "That's the password for the computers, it's the same for all the research computers." For some reason, 'magnus_research' did not seem like a very strong password, but I made no mention of it.

He pulled his own chair over from his desk, and I slid mine awaye from the computer slightly so he could comfortably reach to show me how to work the program. "This is basically an in for all the digital information the Institute has," he informed me. "Any records of previous statement givers, all the records we've stored digitally, even information from most nearby police departments."

"Most info requests will show up as papers stacked on your desk," he continued. "White paper is a request from someone in the library, green is the archives, and blue is artefact storage. You'll probably send most of the info by paper, as well, but it usually gets delivered for you. Sometimes it'll be urgent and you'll need to take it down yourself, but it'll mostly just be placed in the trays out by the door and someone will pick it up the next morning."

I nodded to show that I was understanding, for the most part. None of this seemed super difficult, especially when Tim explained it to me. "I think I kinda get it," I offered.

"Alright, then why don't you..." He trailed off, leaning back over to pick up a sheet of white paper from a small pile on my desk that I hadn't seen before. "Here, a request from the library. See if you can find anything about this."

The word 'Library' was printed across the top of the paper in bold, so I was pretty sure I had a low chance of getting confused about what goes where. The rest was typed normally and specified a request.

"Researching the strange disappearance of a young man (Adam Tonn, 23) from his home in London."

"So, should I pull up his name on here?" I asked Tim.

"That's a good place to start, yeah," he responded. "You'll want to get into any records about him that you can find."

The time flew in a blur of Tim explaining the research process. Each time he stopped, I would nod or find some way to indicate I understood him. Even when I didn't. Even when it felt like my brain might explode or roll right off my shoulders. I'd just say "Mmhmm" and allow him to continue explaining.

Before I realized it, other people had started filing into the room and seating themselves at desks. Two or three had greeted Tim as they passed, but they mostly just shuffled toward their desks, some with plastice coffee cups, others with their half eaten breakfast still in their hands. Across from me sat a man who looked only a few years older than me, but his hair was clearly starting to gray. I wondered, very briefly, what kind of stress or anxiety he must be under to have gray hairs when he couldn't have been older than his early thirties. I say briefly because after about three seconds, his piercing eyes met mine and my heart exploded in my chest. My eyes zipped back to the monitor in front of me as Tim pointed out the staff directory saved on a notepad program. Thankfully, he must not have seen my momentary panic at the handsome man across from us catching me staring. I had been right. All my colleagues were going to be super good-looking and it just wasn't fair.

Once I was able to handle the requests by myself, Tim had started toward his own desk, telling me I could ask if I needed help and that he could check my work at the end of our shift. With that, I was lext at the mostly barren desk with a small stack of papers. It was far shorter than those of most other desks in the room, and I was thankful for it. I picked up another sheet of paper - "Archives: strange death of Martha Brown (37) at the hands of her husband Everett Brown (39) in 1997, Bristol" - and began to type the woman's name into the database.

The man across from me made no mention of the awkward encounter when Tim left, which I was extremely grateful for. He focused on his screen and the stack of papers on the side of his desk, as well as his still lightly steaming cup of coffee. Unlike Tim, whose bright face and personality made him appealing, or Elias, whose elegance and intelligence called attention to him, this man's beauty came from a maturity in his expressions and motions, like he knew more than anyone should at his age, or like he'd seen plenty enough of what this world had to offer. His hair was dark, but the gray strands that sometimes fell to frame his face almost gave the illusion of a halo, or they'd fall over his eyes in little strands that made his dark eyes look like they were shining. I wondered what he would look like if he bleached his hair or dyed it blond. I wondered how he looked when he smiled, when light and joy reached his eyes. I wondered if he could dance, or maybe he was the type who liked to lay in the sun with a nice book. I hadn't even realized I had finished my requests far quicker than I'd expected and was absentmindedly doodling on a sticky note and occasionally glancing at the man.

A hand on my back alerted me to someone's presence behind me. The man across from me, as well as Tim and a few others nearby, glanced up and nodded to whoever was behind me. When I turned my head, I saw Elias standing there with a satisfied smile at the completed requests on my desk. "I was coming to see how you were adjusting, but it seems my worries were for nothing," he informed me, picking up one of the completed forms. I suddenly grew nervous that I had messed up, that the research I'd attatched to the request was incorrect or formatted wrong. Elias' eyes flitted over the paper, as if he wasn't even reading it, then he nodded and placed it back on my desk. "Well done, I'm sure Gertrude will appreciate your help with this case. She's been stuck for weeks, so perhaps this will help."

Elias turned his gaze over to Tim, who turned his chair toward us with that ever-present smile on his face. "Tim, why don't you start your break early to give her that tour and she can deliver these on the way. She'll have a few more to finish by the time she gets back, I'm sure."

"Whatever you say, boss," Tim replied, rising to his feet and stretching as Elias left the room, and I stood with him. The gray-haired man that sat across from me was absorbed in his work, and Tim had scooped up the papers on my desk and begun to lead me out of the working area.


	4. You Ruined My Village and Broke My Heart - Lovemark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This song is such a bop and i love the upbeat tone with a kind of sad message/meaning sjbxnshxjss its very good
> 
> If any of you are interested, id like suggestions for songs for this series! I know all the chapters i want to write, but i dont necessarily have songs for all of them. If you have any songs you like that would fit vibes in this story (romance vibes, spooky vibes, etc) suggestions would be great! I do have a particular love for upbeat/bouncy music with a sadder message, like this song

I toyed with my fingers as I glanced out of the rain covered window of the restaurant, leaning back a little in the booth. This place was nicer and, according to the menu, more expensive than the places Tim usually asked me to meet him at. In the few months I'd been working at the Institute, it had almost become routine for us to eat together at least once a week. Once my classes had started, it was a little more difficult to find the time, but I was able to schedule work for times where I wasn't in class, which left the weekends mostly free for us to hang out.

While I had balked at the idea of a dress, I'd ended up wearing a turtleneck and a skirt, along with a cute pair of half-heel pleather boots that I adored. My hands had started to gently pull at a string that dangled from the sleeve of my shirt. He was late. Really late. Like 'the-waitress-keeps-giving-me-a-pitiful-look-when-I-ask-her-to-refill-my-water' late. I wasn't having a pleasant time staring out of the window and trying to ignore the glances of other patrons.

Suddenly, almost in a whirlwind, a dark-haired figure sat across from me and flashed me a dazzling smile. "The bus was running late," he told me, the usually bright grin on his face looking more apologetic than happy, "I'm sorry I made you wait."

Water droplets dripped from his hair, wetting his shoulders and, apparently, his seat. "Did...Did you walk here?"

The smile went sheepish and he rubbed the back of his head, avoiding my gaze. "More like ran, but...yeah." It was then that I noticed his breathing was heavier than normal. He had run in the pouring rain because he was worried he'd be late to meet me.

I tried my best to stop it, but my heart began to beat loud and fast in my chest. A smile stole my face without me even noticing, and I covered a little laugh with my hands. "That's sweet of you," I told him, trying to keep my very lovestruck expression hidden behind my hand. "You didn't have to do that, I wouldn't have minded waiting longer."

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I made you wait that long?" he replied in a jokingly snotty tone, to which I giggled. His voice went a little more serious, even though his smile could be heard through it. "Really, I'm sorry I made you wait for me."

I shook my head, handing him my menu to look through. "Stop apologizing, because I'm not upset with you," I said as he took the plastic-wrapped menu from my hands. "Figure out what you want to eat before the waitress comes back."

My eyes trailed over to the window again, no longer anxious or worried. Somehow, the blue and gray skies and pattering rain didn't seem so sad anymore. I caught Tim's reflection in the window, seeing that he wasn't looking at the menu, but at something in front of him. When I glanced in his direction, our eyes met and my heart burst. He had been staring at me, the same way I would stare at him or the man across from me when I finished my work early and had nothing to do. We held eye contact a moment longer, before his fell back onto his menu. The waitress returned to the table a few moments later, almost doing a double-take at the soaked man sitting across from me. Still, she wrote down our drinks and orders, taking the menu from our table and leaving with a friendly enough smile.

As per usual, Tim dropped his chin into the palm of his hand, eyes locked on me with unknown emotions behind them and an unreadable expression on his face. "After we eat, how would you feel about going to see a movie or something?"

Unintentionally, I bit the inside of my cheek. "What do you mean?" He raised an eyebrow and his smile turned a little more into a smirk.

"Sorry, do you not know what a movie is?" he teased, and my face flamed. "Whenever we meet up, it's always at a restaurant. I was just thinking it might be nice to change it up a bit."

I hummed in understanding, turning my head to the side in thought. "It's nearly October," I stated, locking onto his gaze. "Maybe we could see a horror movie some time."

"You like horror?"

"It's one of my favorite movie genres."

He made a small 'hm' sound, like he was surprised. "I expected you to be more of a rom-com type," he stated. "You know, add some cliché movies onto your whole 'cute art student' aesthetic."

I scoffed, trying to focus on his joke rather than the way he called me cute. "Pardon me," I started, "but I'd rather die than watch _50 First Dates_ again." Tim burst into laughter, his genuine smile causing me to do the same. I tried to contain my giggles behind my hand as he pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Cute and funny," he said softly, more to himself. He glanced up at me, returning his chin to his palm once more. "You really might be the whole package."

How come every other sentence had to be him flirting and making my heart do things I didn't want it to do? My unimaginably small ego was going to run away with itself if he didn't stop. "Alright, says the handsome guy with the gorgeous laugh," I muttered, turning my head to the side so he wouldn't see how nervous I was. From the corner of my eye, I saw him begin trying to speak.

"Uh, listen, I-"

"Here are your drinks!" our waitress spoke kindly, not even realizing she had cut him off. Tim didn't make any attempt to continue that thought after the waitress left with the promise of bringing our food soon. I waited for him to finish speaking, to tell me what he wanted to say, but he took a sip of his drink - some dark-colored soda - and smiled at me.

"So, what's your favorite horror movie, Artsy?" I raised an eyebrow and bit back a laugh.

"...No, you are not going to start calling me Artsy, that's awful."

"What?! What's wrong with Artsy? I like it!"

An hour later, we were walking the sidewalks of London in the darkening hours of the evening. I had nearly instinctively placed my arm in his after we left the restaurant, and he made no evidence that he even noticed it aside from walking a few inches closer to me. We weren't talking, just enjoying the sights of the lovely city while it was still bright enough to comfortably walk outside. The clouds were still dark and gray, but the rain had stopped a while ago. Occasionally, I would walk a little farther from Tim just to childishly splash a puddle with my foot. He would make no mention of it, he just smiled and held my arm when I walked back to his side.

Under the fading light, Tim was even more handsome. The dark gray clouds made his bright eyes stand out even more under the streetlamps, which almost made him look like he was glowing. It was as if he stepped right out of a movie or a fantasy book. I hoped he wouldn't see me sneaking glances at him, but if he saw, he didn't say anything about it.

We stopped outside of my apartment building, and he began to slip his arm from mine. When I gripped his arm a little tighter, he went still. His eyes met mine with a confused look. "Um...would you like to come inside?" I asked lamely.

He raised an eyebrow. Then he smirked. Then he opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"Ugh, it's nothing like _that_ ," I rebutted. "I...you said you wanted to see a movie. So. I thought you might want to come and watch a movie with me."

There was quiet for a moment. Then two moments. Then I thought he might laugh at me or turn to leave, so I began to backtrack.

"It's fine if you don't want to or if that's a weird thing to ask, I'm sorry-"

"No, no, it's fine!" he cut me off, still smiling. "If you're alright with it, I'd like to watch some movies with you."

His arm had left mine, but now our fingers were locked as he held my hand. And I wondered. I let myself imagine, for only a moment, that he felt the same way about me that I did for him. I let myself believe that I had a chance, that he might think about holding me as much as I thought about him. That he might have those same moments that I did, the ones where I could have sworn that I was going to kiss him or tell him everything that I thought about him.

I cut my own thoughts off right there as we began walking into the building. My heart fluttered at the mere thought of him. My fingers ached when they weren't placed in his. My chest tightened when he smiled at me. There was no possible way for me to deny my feelings for him, I had to admit to that.

But there was no way someone like him could feel that way about someone like me.


	5. Gnossienne: No. 1 - Erik Satie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, such a beautiful piece.....i love this one, it was used in a video game i very much enjoy (faust's alptraum, its a horror game) along with a few other pieces by the same composer....very gorgeous, i love pianos
> 
> !!!WARNING!!!: this chapter depicts violence and gore, dead bodies, murder, mutilation! Please be cautious reading this chapter!

With the changing of seasons came the changing of weather. Before I knew what was happening, I had begun wearing long-sleeved shirts and jackets when leaving my home, trying to keep the cold out and the heat in. Once or twice, it had been so cold that I had taken one step out of the lobby, then turned around to go back to my apartment to grab a scarf and a thicker jacket. It wasn't quite snowy weather yet, but I could tell it was getting close. The mid-October sky was full of light-gray clouds and leaves caught up by the wind, spinning and whirling their way through the buildings on whatever invisible path they may be following.

Of course, the cold weather meant that our office would be warmer than usual. While the A/C unit was half as old as the building, it did a fine enough job of keeping the research department warm. I was just glad I didn't have to wear my jacket indoors, which might make working a little more difficult for me.

One day, early in the week of Halloween, I ran into Elias in the lobby of the Institute. He'd been waiting for me, he said he had a favor to ask of me.

"Gertrude, our Archivist, is a bit busy at the moment," he stated as he began to walk me in the opposite direction of the research department, towards the downward staircase that would lead into the Archives. "As you may be aware, she doesn't currently have any assistants. There's some field research she needs conducted within the next few days, but she is unable to go. I was hoping you'd be up to the task."

Excitement and anxiety bubbled up all at once. All of a sudden, my heart was a little bit louder. "What do you mean by field research?" I asked, swallowing back a lump in my throat. Elias shrugged.

"Nothing too difficult or dangerous," he informed me. "It's the home of someone who gave a statement a while back. Gertrude was looking into the case and needed someone on site. She could tell you more about it, if you're interested." He glanced over at me as we descended the stairs, an eyebrow raised in an inquiring manner.

"Um...I mean...you said it shouldn't be dangerous," I half repeated. "I guess...yeah, I could do it. I think. Yeah." He patted my back and grinned.

"Wonderful. I'm sure Gertrude will be delighted. If all goes well, there's a chance you might get called on again in the future." He hummed in thought, before having a small 'aha' moment. "Almost forgot to mention that your hourly pay will be doubled during investigations."

Doubled?! The insane rate that the Institute already paid me was plenty enough! Where did this old ass library get all that money from?

Before I could ask the question - obviously worded a bit differently - we had stepped into the Archives. There was that same smell of books and paper and ink as the library upstairs, but perhaps a bit more...I supposed 'condensed' would have to do. I could probably open a bottle of bleach down there and not even get the faintest hint of the scent.

There was only one person down there, an older woman I immediately recognized as Gertrude Robinson. Even if I hadn't seen her a few times before, I knew that I would have been able to pick her out from a crowd. There was a certain way she presented herself, like she knew more than she let on and didn't want anyone to know. She carried herself like an old woman, but it almost seemed forced, like she was pretending to be weak and frail. Of course, I never would have said that out loud, especially not to her. If she had something to hide from me, she had every right to so so.

"H-Hello, Ms. Robsinson," I greeted, unsure of why I was so nervous. She greeted me with my first name, eyes almost apologetic when she glanced at me. Elias placed a hand on my back and gently pushed me forward.

"You'll be glad to know that she's agreed to investigate for you," he stated, and I could've sworn Gertrude looked like she would throttle him in that moment. She didn't, though, and Elias padded back up the stairs by himself, wishing me luck as he went.

It was quiet for all of a moment, befoe I decided to speak up. "Um, Elias didn't give me too many details about what I'd be doing," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. Something about Gertrude made me a little nervous. It felt like she could see right through me, like she could pinpoint every thought that crossed my mind. "He only mentioned that I'd be investigating a home, I believe."

She nodded in response, turning around and waving for me to follow her deeper into the Archives. It was farther than I'd ever gone, as I only ever came to drop research papers off at the first desk before sucrrying back up the stairs. "There was a statement given a few weeks ago," she began, stopping at a desk to dig through a file. "Apparently, their home had been broken into, but nothing was stolen. Instead, a few weeks after the incident, they found a body had been placed in their basement. The police report's details on the body are quite gruesome, yet very strange." She handed me a few of the papers, which seemed to have come from the research department.

"Oh, I think I researched this for you," I told her, glancing over some of the details. "That must be why Elias asked me, since I had already looked into the case."

September 16, 2014 - body of Dillon Anderson (male, 27) found in the home of Simon Vincent (male, 46). Anderson's body was mutilated beyond recognition, the only way to identify him were his fingerprints, which were mostly intact. Strangely enough, his cause of death was not the mutilation, nor was it an affliction anywhere on the outside. Instead, it appeared his body had been burned from the inside out, the most charred places being around his heart. Due to the mutilation, it was impossible to tell just how someone could have burned the man's heart, especially since it appeared to have been burned before his body had been cut, meaning it had still be entirely inside his chest when the burning occured. Obviously, Vincent and his family were the first suspects, but none of their DNA was found on the scene that would match the time frame of the murder. The body had to have been there for a few weeks, but the freshest samples they found from the Vincent family were months old. The family had admitted to hardly using the basement, and the only reason they found the body was the smell of decay and burnt flesh that lead them downstairs. Unidentified DNA, presumably the murderer's, was found on the scene. Vincent's wife, Allie, had told the police that someone must've done it during the break in a few weeks prior, but the police had searched the entire home, including the basement, and found nothing. Either they had hidden very well during investigation, or this had occured after the break in. The Vincent family moved out a few weeks later, and no one had moved in in the month the home had been empty.

"A very strange death," Gertrude said as I set the paper back down. "I had planned to go there myself to investigate the site, but I've got so much to do here."

"It's alright," I told her, trying my best to grin despite the awful feeling in my stomach. "The house is empty, so I shouldn't be bothered too much while I'm there. Um, did you want pictures of the house?"

She shook her head. "No, just looking around and writing it down will do," she told me. "Of course, as much detail as you can give would be best."

"Okay, I can do that," I told her, retrieving the blank notepad and pen she had placed on the desk in front of me. "Do...Do I go right now?"

She paused, hesitating for only the smallest of moments, nefore nodding. "If you're ready to go, then...yes." I nodded, writing down the address from the report on the top of the notepad. 

"One more thing," she said just as I turned to leave. "Here." She took the pen from my hand and wrote down a string of numbers on the notepad. "If anything strange happens or if you see something...not right, call me."

I gave her a nod, turning once more to leave as my body slightly shook. I was indoors and wrapped in a thick jacket, so why did it feel as though all of my blood had become ice in my veins? Without even a second thought, I treaded back up the stairs, through the lobby, and into the streets of London. I managed to stop a taxi, who said that he could take me to the location, even though it would be about an hour long drive. I agreed, deciding I would pay him extra for the long trip.

That ride was spent in total silence. I was either gazing out the window with dread settling into my stomach, or I was burning a hole into the notepad with my eyes, memorizing the number written on it just in case. In case of what? I wasn't quite sure. Why had she given me her number? What did she expect for me to find? Why did she seem to believe there would be something strange or 'not right' at the house? I noticed my hand was shaking just as the cab pulled to a stop.

Fucking. Of course. A creepy ass mansion. In the woods. With no other buildings around for miles. I paid the driver generously before exiting, double checking that I grabbed everything before closing the door and letting the car drive off. I was officially alone, technically stranded. Just me and the terrifying house.

It wasn't even mid-day yet. The sun was out and the skies were as bright as they could be with the clouds that were gathering. And yet. And _yet_. The house was so...off putting. It felt like it was breathing, like it was looking right back at me as I stared in through its windows. It was painted a bright yellow that somehow looked more like rot than a colorful home. I couldn't believe someone had actually lived there. I couldn't believe I was actually walking through the front door.

The lights were all off, which was to be excepted. No one had lived there or even entered the building in about a month, so it made sense that everything seemed untouched. It hadn't been long enough for dust to settle in, though, evidenced by how everything looked nearly pristine in its place. It was then that I remembered the notepad in my hands and began to scribble notes. 'Empty house, lights off, no dust' and the like were scrawled underneath the phone number. As I stepped into the hallway, I made sure to add 'creepy self portraits' to the list. Paintings lined the walls, all of the same man - Simon Vincent. I recognized him from his picture on the police report. These paintings looked just like him, aside from the color of his eyes. Instead of the green eyes that had been listed in his description, they were bright red, almost like fire. Every painting was the same man in similar poses, all with those blazing red eyes that seemed to burn right through me. I wrote it down under the portrait note - 'red eyes' - and walked a little faster.

Everything was almost as to be expected. Aside from the creepy portraits and some...creepily placed dolls or pictures, the house seemed normal. A few toys had been left in the child's bedroom, scattered across the floor in what might've been a bit of a rush to leave. The sheets in the master bedroom were tossed to the side, as if someone had just thrown them off after waking up. I allowed my mind to wonder, for a moment, if this house had truly been empty. 'Squatters???' was added to my notes.

And finally, there was only one place left to investigate. The crime scene. The site of the body. The basement.

I shuddered as I approached the basement door. If I tried hard enough, I almost convinced myself it might be a closet and that I could say I didn't find the basement door. It wasn't a closet. It opened immediately in a stairwell, leading down into a dark area. I couldn't see further than about seven steps before the light couldn't reach. I tried the switch next to the door, and a dull light flickered on somewhere in the room. After holding my breath for a moment, it didn't seem like the light planned to burn out on me, so I began to slowly take the steps down.

"Oh my God," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes before I turned to vomit. Another body, mutilated and bloody and disgusting. There were pieces of the person _everywhere_. Blood spattered on the walls. Limbs and slices of skin placed around the room. I was so distracted by the body that I didn't even notice the candles that were freshly lit. The wax hadn't even begun to melt yet.

With shuddering fingers, I grasped my phone from my pocket and hurriedly typed out the number on the notepad. Only moments later, Gertrude had picked up and called my name.

"Is something wrong?" she immediately asked. "What's happened? Hello? Are you there?"

"Ms. Robinson," I whimpered, tears flowing as I found myself unable to look away. It was then that I saw the candles, and the tears came quicker. "I think...I don't think I'm alone." The whispered truth made the crying come faster as I wondered if I would be next. I wondered if it would be my blood that covered the walls. My skin that littered the floor. My limbs that were hacked and tossed away.

"Get out of there, now," said the old lady. "You have to leave immediately. Start running and don't stop."

I was frozen in place. Frozen in fear. I was looking at a dead body. I was surrounded by its gore. I was looking at what might be me in the next few minutes.

Gertrude yelled my name, and I leapt to my feet, hugging the notepad close to my chest as I started running. I sprinted up the stairs and was almost not even surprised when someone reached to grab me once I passed the doorframe, and I dropped my phone when they did. A hand took hold of my wrist and I cried out, pulling as hard as possible. My arm began to burn where my attacker held it, heat seeping in through the sleeve of my jacket. Hoping for the best, I directed a kick toward their crotch. They groaned in pain, barely loosening their grip on my arm, but it was enough for me to wrestle it away from them. I bent down to quickly scoop up my phone and dashed out the front door. I wasn't being followed, but I ran. And I ran. And I didn't stop until I saw another house. It was dark outside. I must have been there for hours. Someone was in the yard of their home, and they ran over to get me.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" asked a young lady, seeing my crying and shivering form. "Do you need me to call the police? Has something happened?"

I shook my head, some of the feeling returning to my body. "I...No, I just...I need a ride. To London. The Institute."

She pursed her lips, as if considering what I'd said, before nodding. "I can drive you," she offered, "no charge. Let me get you something to eat, first." She allowed me to sit on the steps to her porch as she went inside, returning moments later with a small plastic bag in her hands. She helped me to my feet and half carried me to her car, placing me in the passenger's seat and handing me the bag. Upon opening it, a few granola bars and water bottles peaked up at me. I opened a bottle just as she started the engine, and our ride began.

"My name is Karey," she informed me. I muttered my name in response, voice raspy even though I'd already downed half of the water. "Where do you need to go?"

"Magnus Institute," I said, bringing my legs up and hugging them to my chest. I glanced to my phone, seeing a huge crack across the screen. It was broken. I wouldn't be able to call Gertrude if anything happened to me.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you to the police?" Karey asked, concern lacing her words. "You seem like you've been theough...something. You were crying and injured."

I shook my head. "Just...the Institute, please." Karey sighed, but she kept her gaze on the road and followed the road signs that would lead us back to London.

By the time I arrived at the Institute, it was nearing midnight. Karey had offered to walk me in, but I declined. I thanked her amd gathered my things, before slowly and almost painfully making my way into the building, using my employee ID to open to locked front door.

Tim was in the lobby, sitting down and glancing at his phone while tapping his foot. There was no one else there, as it was far past the operating hours of the Institute. Tears welled in my eyes as I called out his name. His eyes snapped up and went wide when he saw me. He jumped to his feet to meet me, and I practically collapsed into his arms. He didn't ask me what happened, didn't say a word. He only wrapped his arms tightly around me and let me sob into his chest.

When I was able to compose myself, I pulled away gently with a sniff, rubbing the remnants of tears away with the sleeve of my uninjured arm. "What happened?" Tim finally asked.

"I need to...tell Gertrude what I saw," I told him, achingly pulling away from him. I didn't even realize how much I ached until then, my limbs sore from running and adrenaline. I was only just able to stand on my own and begin to trudge my way toward the staircase.

Tim stepped in front of me, placing his arms on my shoulders. "You _need_ to go home," he insisted, gaze fierce and somehow caring at the same time. "Whatever you need to tell Gertrude can wait until tomorrow." I shook my head.

"I need to...I...have to...I..." My lips quivered and I felt the tears begin again. "Please..."

There was a moment before he sighed, stepping up beside me and wrapping an arm around my waist. "Fine," he muttered, walking in time with me and letting me lean against him, "but you're just going to tell her what you saw, and then you're going home." I nodded my agreement as he carefully helped me down the stairs. Gertrude was waiting at the first desk, worry apparent on her face as her eyes fell onto me.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked me, rushing to my side in a manner that was so unlike her. She didn't pretend. She wasn't faking fragility in that moment. She dropped the act, just to show concern for me.

"I...think so..." I told her, leaning a little further into Tim's side as I extended my arm to her, offering the notepad. "...It wasn't empty..."

"Yes, I gathered as much from you phone call," she said, taking the notepad from me. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead gently grabbed my arm when I began to retract it. She pulled back my sleeve to expose the burn on my arm. Tim made a noise of shock next to me as Gertrude looked at me for an explanation.

"Somebody was there," I said. "There were candles lit in the basement...all around the b-body..." My own body shivered as I recalled the blood and viscera in the basement. "When I left the basement, they grabbed my arm. I think...I think they were gonna kill me, too..." I barely managed to bite back tears as Tim's arm tigthened around my waist. "They burned my arm...so I kicked them and ran...and my phone broke, too...so I couldn't call you...one of the neighbors gave me a ride back."

Gertrude examined my arm for a moment longer, then released it to glance at the notepad. "Sorry if the details aren't helpful," I apologized, some of the feeling returning to my body. "It was just...awful."

She looked over the notepad in consideration, then set it on the desk. "Go gome," she told me, sitting down at the desk. "You can tell me everything after you get some rest."

"Funny, that's what I said," Tim chimed, gently squeezing my waist with a kind smile. "C'mon, let's get you home."

It was a very quiet walk. I cradled my burned arm to my chest, still feeling the heat from my attacker's hands despite the chill of autumn. The whole walk, Tim kept his arm around me and let me put some of my weight on him. I had even managed to stop shaking by the time we got into the apartment building.

He accompanied me to my apartment, and I held the door open for him as I walked in, a silent offer for him to enter. More of a plea, really. I didn't want to be alone, and he must've seen that. He stepped in after me and closed the door behind himself, pulling me into another one of those amazing hugs that he gave. I buried my nose into his chest as one of his hands began to soothingly rub my back. I willed myself not to cry while he did so, my hands gripping his shirt in some form of desperation.

After a moment, my legs began to feel weak again, and I slumped against him a bit. His grip kept me from falling, and he carefully walked over to sit me on the couch, where Scooby was currently scratching behind his ear. Once he saw us sitting down, he stood, stretched, and padded him way over to crawl into my lap. I leaned my head against Tim's chest and began to pet Scoob. Tim reached over to scratch the puppies ears with his free hand, and I knew without asking that he was willing to sit here with me all night if I needed. I relaxed further into his side and let myself start drifting into sleep. I dreamed of Tim, holding my hand in his and kissing the top of my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie this chapter is like...twice as long as usual 😳😳 i tried to give a lot of detail, but i feel like...it kinda fell short of what i wanted. It feels a tad rushed or like...incomplete???? Maybe??? Idk but i think this chapter might need some editing later on


	6. Gnossienne: No. 2 - Erik Satie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!!WARNING!!!: this chapter brings up death, murder, violence, gore, mutilation, and burning! Please read at your own risk!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looked at a timeline and saw that gertrude.....wasnt in london during october 2014...so......canon divergence time baybee lmao 😔😔 lets just pretend she had to come to london for smth idk

It was silent in Gertrude's office. Files and books were placed around the room, seemingly at random and without thought or care. Bookshelves covered the wall behind her chair, but it was half empty, with some books wide open and others seemingly torn. Some of them even appeared to be slightly burnt. She had a laptop on her desk, one that didn't necessarily seem cutting edge, but looked like it would get the job done. Whatever 'the job' might be.

The door opened and shut behind me, and a moment later Gertrude walked past me to sit at her desk. She placed a cup of barely steaming tea on the desk in front of me. "I wasn't sure ho you like your tea," she began, "but I thought you might like some extra sugar and honey."

Sure enough, when I took a sip of the drink, it was extremely sweet. I didn't mind, though. I liked sweets. I also figured the sugar might...I don't know. Give me the energy to speak? I wasn't sure, but I thanked her anyway.

"Are you...Am I going to give my statement?" I asked her. She pursed her lips at this, but sighed a moment later.

"I'm afraid so," she answered. "I realize it might be difficult to do, but this is my job." Her hand moved over to something I hadn't noticed on her desk, a tape recorder. I allowed myself to smile.

"A bit old fashioned, I think," I half joked. "Why use a tape recorder if you have your laptop?"

Gertrude laughed, a sound that wasn't necessarily humorous or joyful, but more like a formality. I wondered if she was asked that a lot. "Perhaps I'm just an old fashioned lady," she said, picking up the recorder to place it in front of me. "Whenever you're ready."

I took one more small sip of the tea, feeling the warmth travel down my throat, then nodded to her. She began to speak. "Statement of..." She looked at me for a moment, then back to the recorder. "...a researcher at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding the former home of Simon Vincent. Statement recorded October 28th, 2014. Recorded direct from subject. Statement begins."

My fingers shook as I tried forcing myself to speak. "Well...the house seemed normal enough at first," I said. "It looked like it was empty, and it was supposed to be empty. I mean, no one had lived there for a month, so...yeah, it was normal empty house stuff. It wasn't dusty, and I don't really think it should've been. I don't think a month is long enough for dust to start settling."

"The first weird thing I saw was...the main hallway. There's a foyer behind the front door, with three doorways. The left was the living room, the right was the kitchen and dining room, and the center was a hallway that would lead to the rest of the house. It seemed really...small. Like, it could barely fit two normal sized people in it. And there were these weird paintings of the last owner, Simon Vincent. They were all along the walls. I mean, they were good paintings, I guess. They looked just like the photos and the description on the police report, except for the eyes. The report said that he had green eyes, but all of the paintings of him had red eyes. I guess that doesn't really qualify as a weird thing, exactly. Just creepy."

"The bedrooms were...messy, I guess. It looked like someone had left them in a hurry - the bedsheets in the master bedroom were tossed like someone had thrown them off after waking up. The child's room had toys scattered around it, and I didn't even realize this until now, but...they were all facing the doorway. Like. Like they were looking at me. O-Obviously they weren't, they were just toys, and I know that must make me sound crazy. It was just really creepy. And outside the bedrooms, there were weird dolls and vases all over the place. Some of the vases even had dolls stuffed in them, with their heads or limbs sticking out of the top. I suppose that's not evidence of anything, either. Just weird. And creepy."

"There was nothing out of place, really. I mean, yeah, there was a lot of weird stuff left there, but I chocked it up to being the Vincent family leaving in a rush and only taking what they need. I imagine it would be difficult to pack ten giant portraits, or thirty or so vases. There were more vases and dolls in the living room, kitchen, and dining area, but nothing out of place. The TV in the living room wasn't turned on, and the fridge in the kitchen wasn't even plugged in."

Dread settled in the pit of my stomach. There was only one thing I hadn't talked about yet, and I didn't exactly want to. With quivering fingers, I pulled the mug up to my mouth for another sip of tea.

"The only place left after that...was the basement." I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking and forced myself not to cry. I was so tired of crying. "When I opened the basement door, the lights were off. Now that I think about it, I didn't even see light coming from the candles down there. After a few steps, it was total darkness. I saw a light switch by the door, and that turned on the basement light. I waited to make sure it wouldn't die on me, then started walking downstairs."

"Th-There was a body down there. I couldn't tell who it was, their face was...it looked...it was like the skin had been ripped off of their face. I..." Somewhat ashamed, I turned my head to the side. "...I started panicking and threw up...it was horrible. There was blood and skin and bones and limbs everywhere and it felt like I was surrounded by this horrible...thing..." I tried to take a deep breath, to calm myself, before continuing. "It looked like the same as the other victim, Anderson. And so...I called you, at that point. I was terrified because I just knew that whoever had done it was still in the house. There were candles lit all around the basement, and...and I knew someone was there because the wax had barely started to melt."

"When I called you, you told me to run, and so I tried to," I went on. "I ran back up the stairs and was going to run to the door, but someone grabbed my arm. They squeezed really hard, and I dropped my phone. It must've broke. I don't know why, but their hand burned me. It was like having a hot iron pressed around my arm, and it hurt so much. When I tried to pull my arm away, they were much stronger than me. So I kicked them. And I got my arm loose. I grabbed my phone and ran. I-I must've run miles, because I ended up at someone else's house. They saw me and offered to give me a ride back to London."

I clenched my jaw. It was done. I had said it. It was over, now.

"Did you see anything about the person who attacked you?" Gertrude asked, breaking the split second of silence. "Were you able to see their face, or hear their voice?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I was honestly...crying too much to see anything clearly. When I kicked them, they sort of groaned and it sounded male, but that's all I got before I ran."

"And you say the body was...beyond recogition?"

"Yes, but as far as I could tell, they looked female, and it seemed like they had been wearing a dress before...um...yeah. I couldn't make out any details other than that. I couldn't even tell their hair color because of all the blood...Their eyes had been removed, too. Their hands were removed and placed near one of the candles, and their feet were cut off and place somewhere else. They looked a bit scorched, like someone had burned them. I think they were trying to burn off their fingerprints so they couldn't be indentified. The, um...the cutting didn't seem clean. I saw photos of the crime scene from before, and it was the same. Whoever did this is either very bad at cutting things, or they've never done this before."

"What do you mean by saying the cutting wasn't clean?" Gertrude asked me.

"Well, I mean...it looked like they had been really hacking at the person. There were marks around their wrists and ankles, like the person had been chopping them like firewood and missed too many times. I just hope they were dead before it got to that point."

"And the mutilation of the body? Was it 'unclean' as well?"

I half shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I mean, they were sort of...really torn up? I was hard to see anything too detailed about it, they just seemed to have been ripped open. It was awful."

Gertrude hummed what sounded like an agreement, then looked up from where I hadn't realized she was writing things down. "That's all I need," she informed me. "Statement ends." And she turned off the recorder.

Before I could speak, she gently pushed the cup of tea closer, urging me to take another sip. As I did so, she spoke, "Take the day off. I'll tell Elias that I sent you home. You should rest and take the day off."

I nodded, setting the now empty cup back onto her desk. "Thank you for the tea," I said as I stood. "I...I'll go home, now. Thank you."

She watched as I left, and I could have sworn I heard the recorder turn back on just as I shut the door behind me. Now, I was in the Archives, and I just wanted to be home. I didn't speak to or look at anyone as I left, the only thing on my mind being the soft, expensive bed and my cute, cuddly dog that awaited me.


	7. the snack that smiles back - Shawn Wasabi, raychel jay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I literally changed this song at least three times akxbsnxjjss it was difficult to find one that accurately fit the mood of this one, and this song is the closest i could get i think.....idk it might change again later sjbfdxbsn
> 
> This chapter is a quick-shift in mood from the previous ones and perhaps the beginning of a real (?) romance??? Who's to say?
> 
> I am. I'm to say. And I said it. So.

The onset of Winter brought about one of the most nerve-wracking times for any students - midterms. Along with the chill and the occasionally icy roads, I also had to worry about impressing my professors and academic advisors. See, art students with studio classes have different 'tests' compared to most other degree plans. Instead of sitting down and picking answers on a sheet of paper, we had to submit portfolios with photos of our art. Sometimes, depending on which professors you had or how the advisors had convened, you would even be made to participate in a gallery.

Of course I had to get picked for a gallery.

It was a compliment, really. Being chosen for a gallery meant that _all_ of my professors had sent glowing letters to the advisors and suggested they set me up for a gallery rather than submitting my portfolio. My advisors had even told me about how genuinely impressed and excited my professors had been in their emails and talks, and it was both very touching and very frightening. The advisors then informed me that I had a week to choose which of my pieces to exhibit and to create an artist statement and theme for the selection, which I'd done relatively quick for fear of procrastinating if I delayed even a moment.

"Ugh, it's gonna be so weird," I whined to Tim, who was spooning some soup or whatever he had ordered into his mouth. "It's an honor, really, but I don't know...I've seen what the other students at the gallery chose and I can't even begin to compare to them. I mean, one of those girls made, like, thirty clay pots twice my height! That's insane!"

"But you did say that all your professors reccomended you," Tim counteracted when I took a break to ravenously shovel some fries -er, chips? - into my mouth. "I'm sure there's a good reason for it. Besides, isn't this gallery basically just your, uh, portfolio but done in person?"

"You could say that." I set my hands on the napkin in my lap, glancing out the window. "Yeah, it's like plastering my portfolio to a billboard and inviting the whole university - no, all of London! - to come stare at it." I sighed, leaning forward to lay my cheek on the table, still looking through the window. "Man, my last gallery was shit. I was proud of everything until some trust fund prick gave me shit about one of my paintings."

"Best not to let one bad experience ruin everything for you," Tim offered, causing me to sit up once more to meet his gaze. "I'm sure everything will be fine, you're just overthinking it."

I chewed the inside of my cheek. "I just...Ugh, I'm gonna have to dress up and _talk_ to people and listen to them..." With a noise somewhere between a sob and a whine, I crossed my arms on the table in front of me and laid my head in them, face down.

Tim chuckled at my dramatics and I heard the clink of his spoon against the bowl as he continued to eat his soup. Um, drink his soup? Whatever.

At the very least, I was thankful for the change in pace. Since the investigation incident, I'd been shaking and terrified at every little thing, believing every unkown figure to be the man who'd burned me at the house. The scar, though slightly faded, was still quite visible on my arm. Tim had, half jokingly, said it made me look more badass, but it felt as though the scarred flesh still burned whenever I touched it or thought about it for too long. Surely there was some medical term for the ghost of a pain that had past, but I didn't know it.

"Would you come with me?"

Silence fell from the other side of the table. His foot stopped tapping on the tiled floor. His spoon stopped clinking against his bowl. Perhaps, for a moment, his breathing stopped as well.

I leaned up and refused to meet his gaze, straightening my back and turning my head to the side. "Sorry, that was weird, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"No, no," he replied, perhaps a bit too fervently. "No, you didn't make me uncomfortable, you just...shocked me. I mean, you never let me see your art, I can hardly ever get you to even talk about it!"

"I just really don't want to go alone," I admitted in a half whisper. "I'm not great with big crowds, and, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm not great at interacting with other people. It...I would really appreciate it if you could come with me."

My eyes were locked on a streetlamp outside the window, across the road from the restaurant. It was only just becoming dark enough for the light to be needed, and I watched as a few apartments across the street turned their lights on to rid their homes of the incoming darkness.

"I'll go." The words half started me. I had been expecting him to decline, or even to completely change the subject, but he had just agreed.

"Are you sure?" Our eyes met when I turned. He was giving me a soft smile that made his dark eyes even softer. "You don't have to, really."

"But I want to," he responded. "If...If you need someone to be there with you, and if you trust me to be that person, then I'll do it." A beat of silence. He cleared his throat, smile turning teasing and playful. "Besides, I wouldn't pass up an opportunity to see your art firsthand."

And that was how I found myself preparing for what Tim had decided to call 'Our Art Gallery Date.' I would be lying if I said hearing him talk about it as if it really were a date didn't make my heart quiver, but I tried to push those thoughts aside, at least for the time being.

After about a half minute of debate, I decided to wear a mostly familiar outfit - black turtleneck sweater, dark brown pleated skirt, skin-tone pantyhose, and my favorite black, pleather, half-heel boots. The boots and sweater had been worn on a date with Tim about two months prior, and I hoped he didn't think I only owned one fancy outfit...because I techincally owned two, the other being the only dress that I owned, an article of clohing that would never leave my dresser.

Scooby whined when I left without him, but I tried to assure him that I would only be gone a few hours. "And once I'm home, I'll give you some of your jerky treats." He was lying in his bed when I left, giving a wide-eyed, almost teary look toward the door. "Good bye, sweetheart."

Tim was waiting just outside the building, and I froze when I saw him. This was my first time seeing him dressed so nice. Sure, he'd 'dressed up' for a few of our meetings, but that had usually been a plain colored T-shirt, tight-ish jeans, and a blazer. What he wore that afternoon was shocking, in many ways. One way was that he looked handsome, almost painfully so, and his charm intensified when he glanced over at me and took on a shit eating grin.

"You-"

"I'm going back and I'm changing clothes," I informed him, but he pulled an arm around my shoulders to keep me from doing so.

"What's wrong? Too shy to be seen in public matching with me?"

Of course. _Of course_. He wore a black turtleneck sweater, black slacks, and black leather shoes. Of course he'd wear almost the exact same outfit.

"Anyone would be embarrassed to match with you," I tried to joke, feeling my face flame from the close contact. "Ugh, whatever, let's just get to the damn bus stop."

Tim laughed, loud and boisterous and uncaring of who heard him, as I slipped from his grasp and began to walk ahead tiward a nearby bus stop. He started walking a moment later, catching up and falling into step with me, even taking my hand in his own and lacing his fingers through mine.

"It's not that bad to match with me, is it?" he asked, half serious, as we stood under the bus sign in wait.

I huffed a small sigh. "It was just...surprising. And a little silly. But I guess I don't mind that much." My face flamed as I found my mouth going off without consulting my brain. "For the record...you look really nice. In the outfit. It makes you look more handsome."

A split moment of silence. "Well...for the record, you look pretty nice yourself. You really are a beautiful woman, you know."

I turned my head away from him to hide the dumb, lovestruck grin on my face, and he laughed once more. I loved that about him. He laughed. And when he laughed, I wanted to laugh. He radiated joy and inspired happiness in everyone around him. The air was never truly silent with him, always filled with happy words or stupid jokes or his gorgeous laugh.

There was nothing else said by the time the bus showed up. There was nothing else said during the short ride over to the university. As we stepped off, my heart began to pound as I remembered exactly what we were there for.

I pressed a hand to my stomach and groaned. "I think I'm gonna be sick," I whined. Tim patted my head.

"C'mon, faking illness isn't getting you out of this one," he told me, offering his arm to walk me into one of the main halls of Herakles, beyond which would be the large ceremony hall where all the artworks were displayed.

We made our way around the room, taking time to look at other student's works as well. A few of them, namely classmates of mine, stopped me for a short chat where I would congratulate them on their wonderful work, and they would return the sentiment. Seeing all the beautiful things others had made...well, let's just say my unease and anxiety were running high.

At last, we stepped around a large pot near an edge of the hall - "See, I told you! They're insane!" - and we rounded the faux corner to see another small grouping of pieces. Two large paintings adorned a wall, and three podiums stood between them. My heart lurched and my feet stopped. Tim must've realized that they were mine.

"It's gonna be fine," he told me, smiling reassuringly. "Everyone's said that your work is amazing, and I'm sure it is."

Nervously, I wrapped myself further around his arm as we continued, a little bit slower, to the small area where my work was displayed. I chose to examine my work, rather than see Tim's reaction to them.

The paintings were continous, being two halves of the same scene - a forested area, filled with fireflies and, in the left painting, a waterfall that became a creek in the right painting. Between them were three podiums, one of which containing seven small pots I had made in my pottery class. I was actually quite proud of the pots, considering they looked very cute and were fully functional as pots. On either side of the pots were two lower podiums, adorned with statues about two feet in height. The left was a woman on a tree stump, cradling a dog in her hands and surrounded by curious forest animals. The right was another woman, this time lying in the grass with nothing but butterflies, one resting on her nose.

"This is...wow..." Tim trailed off.

"It's...yeah..." I replied, unsure of myself. I was proud of my work, but did it compare to everything else we had seen? I finally allowed myself to turn and look at Tim's expression, my eyes trailing upward to find that he was staring at me with...I wasn't really sure, but he had the faintest ghost of a smile.

"You really are very good at this," he told me, his arm leaving my own to gently rest around my waist and pull me just a bit closer to him. "I...I don't even know what to say, aside from that these are amazing."

"...Do you mean that?"

He pulled me closer, and I could've sworn I felt something lghtly press againy the top of my head for a moment, before he spoke again. "Yeah, I mean that."

We lingered a moment longer, before remembering that there were many other people in the area. As he removed himself from my side, I spotted the faintest pink in his cheeks. Our hands found one another once more, and we continued to slowly walk around the hall, perhaps a little bit closer to one another than we had been before.

Similar to getting there, our bus ride back to my apartment building was silent. I spent the ride absentmindedly toying my Tim's fingers between my own, where he would occasionally give my hand a gentle squeeze in return.

Our feet stopped at my apartment building, and I felt my heart begin to pound. When was it too soon or too late to try? If I told him how I felt...what would he say? Would he hate me? Would he stop hanging out with me and avoid me at work? The very idea of it shattered my heart into a thousand pieces.

"Walk me up to my apartment?" I asked him, trying not to show how nervous I was. I was definitely not gonna admit my feelings to him in the middle of the sidewalk. Better to do it inside so no one else could see me, should he reject me.

He held the door open for me and returned his hand to my own once we were both in the lobby. The elevator ride, like nearly all other trips that day, was quiet. All I heard was the humming of the metal box and, once we reached my floor, the ding of the sign and slide of the doors opening. Tim walked at my side, and I hoped my hands weren't getting sweaty in his own.

His feet stopped at my door, but neither of us made any motion to open it. Well, of course he didn't, I was the one with the key, but my feet were stuck. He turned to look at me and my heart lurched. Why was it so hard to just...say it?

"Um...Tim..." I began, stepping closer and leaning my head against his chest. He released my hand to lightly rest both of his on my hips. "You...If I told you something...or...or did something...would you hate me?"

"...What do you mean?" I shook my head, clenching my jaw and trying to keep myself from running into my apartment and forgetting this ever even happened. "...I...I could never hate you. You know that."

With all the strength I could muster, I pulled myself from his shoulder and met his concerned gaze. After a moment of considerstion, I leaned up and forward and gave him the lightest kiss I'd ever had, closing my eyes and praying to anyone who could hear it that he wouldn't push me away or get angry with me.

As I pulled away to look at him, I saw the faintest hint of a smile on the lips that I'd just left. It was only a moment before he followed after me, leaning his head down to kiss me once more, but with less hesitation. He pulled me close, arms around my waist, and I rested my hands on his shoulders as he kissed me until I was breathless.

"Would you...like to come inside?" I asked as he seperated for air.

There was the press of his lips to my forehead before he answered. "Yeah. I'd like to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is.....smoochies.....im just love tim
> 
> God this was so difficult to write skebxnsjjx i havent kissed someone for a very kong time, so forgive me for barely remembering how kisses work jfjenxndn


End file.
